


Or that was how it was supposed to be

by Meopat (thecatsmeo)



Category: No. 6 - Asano Atsuko
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-30 10:07:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5159780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecatsmeo/pseuds/Meopat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'll never forget.<br/>No... I can't forget. I'll always remember.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Or that was how it was supposed to be

The ground crunched as he walked. Every jagged rock poked at him from beneath the soles of his shoes. Yet, his pace never slackened, even when the cold winter wind joined in the making of his discomfort and brushed through the individual strands of his hair. Nezumi continued on, never once looking back.

The rocky terrain laid before him, barren of any settlements, tall shrubbery, or people. It looked impressively as uninteresting as the scenery he had seen for weeks. The only difference was the size of the mountain he gradually approached. It towered over him, looming, and oppressively casted its shadow, but Nezumi didn't bother to marvel at it. He had already seen it before.

Another gust of wind blew past him, and this time, he heard a howl in the winds. It was almost as if...

 

> _... I thought I heard the wind blowing. Like the wind that used to blow against Inukashi's ruins... I know I'm just hearing things, but..._

Nezumi closed his eyes and shook his head. You _are_ hearing things.  
There's no point in hearing things from a man who isn't here right now. There's no point in constantly reliving the past that should be left behind, he thought bitterly. A pair of violet eyes gazed at him curiously and he slowly opened his own. That's right, Shion, remembrance. It seems I can't forget you, just as your name would imply. I'll always remember.

The wind brushed against him again and, just barely, he could hear it whisper his name. Nezumi looked up at the grey skies and only wrapped himself in his superfiber cloth tighter. He shifted his knapsack and moved along.

When he finally reached the base of the mountain, a small drop of rain slapped the bridge of his nose. Then, as if in haste, rain poured down from above and Nezumi cursed the skies. He shielded his head and ran along the side of the mountain. A small cave awaited him just beyond and Nezumi ran for cover.

* * *

 

He had been thoroughly soaked by the time he arrived. He grimaced, but immediately wiped his hands on whatever dry clothing he had. With one hand, he quickly assembled the dry grass in the cave to make a small bedding, and with his other, he dug out his pocket knife and a bar of flint. He scrapped off a few pieces of flint into the bedding and proceeded to light it on fire. With a few flicks of the igniter side of the flint, sparks flew into the bedding and a hazy smoke slithered out into the air. Rain continued pouring outside. Nezumi threw some twigs into the fire and watched it burn, marveling at the way it captured air and devoured up the dried twigs. The scar on his back throbbed and he pressed it against his wet jacket to cool it. Fire was not responsible for the loss of the Forest and its People. Fire is a necessity in life. Instead, the party responsible was the city he had left behind... All the atrocities and senseless killings...

I'll never forget.  
No... I can't forget. I'll always remember.

Nezumi took off his wet jacket and laid it on the ground next to the fire. He bit his tongue to not sigh or shiver and looked towards the cave entrance. The ground outside was wet. Though water was a blessing to a worn traveler, a sudden heavy downpour of rain was not exactly the best of gifts. Nezumi had seen the change in weather earlier and had hoped to reach the cave beforehand, but Lady Luck had not been on his side. Here he sat, wet and drenched; a drowned rat once more. He reached his hand out and immediately it was soaked.

His heart pounded.

How many years ago had it been since he had last seen the boy of that accursed city? How many years ago was it that the boy had reached out and embraced him? How many years had passed since that boy childishly screamed out in the rain to express his frustrations at the facade of the world? A smile had appeared unknowingly and Nezumi quickly retracted it and covered his mouth. Wasn't it childish _of him_ to remember and to want someone he had left behind?

The loud drumming of his heart never stopped.

He put a hand on his knees and moved to get up, before he realized. What was he doing? Was he about to go into the rain and scream?  
He clicked his tongue and thought bitterly, what was the point in that?  
Instead, he turned in the opposite direction of the cave entrance, into the darkness. There, he laid down and closed his eyes.  
He did not try to remember the smile of the boy with snowy hair and purple eyes. (He didn't have to try, it would haunt him anyway.)

* * *

 

The fire had burnt out by the time the sun emerged.  
Nezumi kicked dirt, sand, and rocks over the mound of ashes. He grabbed his articles and stepped out of the cave. The smell of rain still lingered in the air and he breathed in the scent heavily. A flash of a red plaid shirt and hot chocolate entered his mind, but he snapped open his eyes before the imagery led him astray to the warmth of the boy that had been sleeping peacefully beside him. He looked at the mountain he stood beneath. Shifting his belongings into a more comfortable position, Nezumi reached a hand out and started to climb.

Each step that takes me further only takes me one step closer to wanting to go back, Nezumi's brows furrowed. He doesn't need Shion. He doesn't need him. What he needed were basic human necessities, like water, air, food, shelter, a knife, and his wit. Not Shion. Even after years of walking and wandering, that should have been the case. Nezumi frowned as he heaved and crawled onto the top of the mountain.

He doesn't need Shion, that was the truth. But there was one other truth. One that he could no longer deny. Even if he didn't need him, he wanted to be beside him. He longed for it. He had always. So, as he stood up, he reached into his backpack and threw the dried aster flowers he had gathered over his travels into the horizon. And as the wind carried them away, just beyond, a familiar dome-shaped building glistened.


End file.
